


Ex-Friends and Current Lovers

by runrarebit



Series: Misfits Moments [4]
Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: AU, Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Timeline, Bottom!Nathan, Coming In Pants, Creampie, Embarrassment, Felching, Feminization, Jealousy, Just embarrassment all the way down, M/M, Overheard smuttiness, Pervert!Simon, Snowballing, Voyeurism, dirty - Freeform, mentions of:, shagging in the loos, slutty!Nathan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 22:26:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18508321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runrarebit/pseuds/runrarebit
Summary: Set in the same Universe asSilky Robes and Stripper HeelsandSimon Versus the Slutty Drunk, probably closer to the time of Silky Robes and Stripper Heels than Simon Versus the Slutty Drunk- if I keep writing these things out of order I'll have to work on a timeline at some point-Anyway. Simon's childhood friend/bully Matt walks into the loos at a fancy wine bar and my, oh my, what does he end up overhearing?





	Ex-Friends and Current Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> Well here we are again... 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading these fics I've been writing, and leaving comments and kudos! They've been great fun to write, and sometimes one writes so much angst and drama that what one needs is filthy, stupid, smutty fun.

It’s not even a club or anything. It’s a _wine bar._ A _nice_ wine bar. So when he nips off to the loos for a piss the last thing he expects is the hot and heavy sounds of a couple shagging in one of the toilet stalls.

At first he thinks some bloke has convinced his girlfriend that the men’s toilets are the romantic hotspot of the evening— the sighs and moans are high-pitched, feminine, make his dick twitch— but then he spots the shoes— one pair something nice, the black leather polished to a mirror shine— the pair in front, the pair belonging to whoever it is clinging on to dear life to the toilet door while the man in leather shoes fucks their brains out, is a pair of battered converse either belonging to a girl with bigger feet than most girls he’s met or— his gaze goes to the fingers desperately flailing over the top edge of the stall’s door to get a better grip— the long, nobbly, short-nailed and decidedly _masculine_ fingers— he realises that he’s walked in on two men fucking. There is gay sex happening in that toilet stall. 

What’s he supposed to do now? He feels like he should tell someone. Maybe he should tell the barman? He’s pretty sure it’s not normal to walk in on gay sex when you go to the loos in a posh place like this. 

‘B-Barry,’ the one being fucked coos. ‘Oh God, right there. Fuck me like that.’

His dick twitches again. He glares rather helplessly down at the traitorous thing. 

He is straight. He is a straight man. No one could ever accuse him of being anything less than straight— not even Simon. That— _thing_ that happened when they were kids— that night at his place, when Simon had— in his sleep— that was all _Simon._ He’d hated every moment of it. It was scary and unarousing and he’s certainly never thought about it after, what it would be like— not as a kid, but as him now, Simon so much bigger than he was back then, looking so much _stronger_ — and he’d been alarmingly strong even in his sleep. Holding him in place so Simon could—

‘You’re so pretty when you take my cock,’ he hears and it’s like someone kicks the legs out from under him. His dick gives up on twitching in favour of swelling properly. He knows that voice. 

_He knows that voice._

Whoever it is in that stall with Simon keens at the words, then moans out, in a voice that’s low and throaty and this time obviously male. ‘Call me pretty, call me pretty. Fuck I love your cock. Fuck. Fuck. It’s so _big._ Oh God Barry, call me pretty.’

‘You’re not just pretty,’ Barry— no, _Simon,_ that is _Simon’s_ voice. He’d know that voice _anywhere._ — Simon replies, sounding very self-satisfied, ‘You’re _beautiful._ ’

This sets off another round of high, feminine sighs. What the fuck? No, seriously, _what the fuck?_

‘So beautiful,’ he hears. ‘Gorgeous. Look at you—'

He should probably leave. He wishes he’d never needed to piss— he wishes he didn’t still need to piss, not that he’ll have the chance anytime soon— because there’s no way he’s letting Simon know he was here, listening to him fuck his— whatever that girly voiced man is to him. Probably not his boyfriend. If the guy was his boyfriend then he’d be calling him by his actual name, right? Why does he feel weirdly relieved that this guy getting fucked by his childhood-friend in the loos of this fancy wine bar is probably not said childhood-friend’s boyfriend? 

Why isn’t he leaving? Why is he just lurking around and eavesdropping. He’s as bad as Simon— creepy little shit that he can be. He bets this guy with Simon’s dick in him doesn’t know how creepy Simon can be. There’s no way anyone who knew how creepy Simon can be would let the man fuck them. 

‘Come on,’ the girly-voiced man moans, ‘Come on Barry, I need it.’

‘Do you want me to?’ he hears Simon reply, breathe-out really, low and lusty. Hearing it makes him shudder.

‘Yes, do it,’ the other man coos. 

‘Are you sure?’ Simon teases. ‘Are you sure you want me to?’

‘Yes, come on, come on, do it.’

‘Are you absolutely sure?’ and Simon’s playing with the guy he’s fucking, isn’t he. He sounds so in control. How can he sound so in control?

‘Yes,’ the guy moans. ‘Oh fuck, yes, Barry, _please._ ’

A grunt, the toilet stall’s door shuddering with the force of Simon’s thrusts, and then he’s saying, ‘You want me to cum in you?’ 

And the guy is mewling, ‘Yes.’

And Simon is grunting, ‘Cum in your pretty ass?’

And the guy sounds like he’s about to cry, he’s so desperate for it. ‘Yes, yes, Barry, yes.’

‘Squirt my spunk up in there with the last load?’

The guy wails, fingers scrabbling desperately at the top of the stall door. 

He feels numb. Stupid. Overwhelmed. Like someone’s spiked his drink. He can’t believe this is happening. He can’t believe his dick is this hard. 

Simon’s still going, still talking, filth spilling from his lips. ‘Make you sit with it— it— _dripping_ out of you—'

Oh God. For a moment he imagines it, but it’s not this faceless, wailing, gay _slag_ that Simon’s drilling in the stall, it’s _him._ Himself on his back in his bed, his childhood bed, the one where— and Simon’s holding him down, his legs open, and is up in between them and is—

Still talking, grunting, sounding fuck-drunk, ‘Do it again when we get home—’ 

‘Yes,’ the slag whines.

‘Going to— going to—’ Simon grunts.

More whining. ‘Come on, come on, please. Oh God.’

‘Eat your gorgeous arse— suck— suck it all— ah— out— out and then— then—’ his breath catches in his throat. He can feel it. The moment. Simon’s about to come—

‘Yes, yes,’ the slag mewls, almost ruining everything for him, but then he hears Simon take one deep breath, the words rolling out with a force that makes his knees week, that makes the world around him white out. 

‘Spit it in your mouth and make you _swallow_ it.’

‘Of fuck, _Simon!_ ’ he hears from very far away as he catches himself against the tiled wall. He can feel the wet spot soaking into the cloth of his pants, then into the denim of his best jeans. He gasps desperately, trying to be quiet, trying to catch his breath. 

Oh fuck, he just came— and without even a hand on him.

When his brain starts working again he can hear kissing, the sounds of soft, affectionate murmuring. He can just make out Simon saying ‘Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you?’

‘It was good,’ the slag replies, sounding as stupid as the guy no doubt is. Letting himself get fucked like that in the toilet of a wine bar of all places. He probably lets just anyone do it. He’s probably riddled with diseases. Why Simon would even want to— ‘It’s always good— no! No. Don’t pull out. Not yet. Love the way you feel—’

‘God, you’re gorgeous,’ Simon breathes out, sounding almost stunned by the words. ‘How did I get to be so lucky?’ 

And that’s it. That’s all he can stand. He storms out of the bathroom, ignoring the slag (suddenly sounding a whole lot less feminine and breathy and a whole lot more _mocking_ ) crowing, ‘Was someone in here listening to us fuck? _That pervert!_ ’

There is no way he’s letting Simon catch him. No way. He will die of humiliation on the spot— for a split second the memory crosses his mind of the other man holding out those beers at that club, face falling when he made it clear it’d been a mistake, that Simon wasn’t wanted there— His eye catches on the sign on the door between the women’s and men’s loos. A single user disabled toilet. Door unlocked. He darts inside, locks it, and backs away from the door.

A moment later he hears a commotion outside, the slag saying ‘Can you spot him? I can’t wait to see his face!’

And Simon saying, ‘Nathan get back here!’

‘What? Why?’

Then the sound of more kissing, a soft squeak from the slag, and Simon saying, ‘Your jeans weren’t on properly. I don’t want everyone in the bar seeing your underwear.’

‘Are you feeling possessive Barry?’ the slag coos, sounding obnoxiously pleased. 

‘Always,’ Simon replies, sounding very, very serious. 

A moment later he hears them walk away, before the sound of a very chavvy voice almost bellowing ‘You two been shagging in the loos again? You know this is actually a bar, not the Community Centre?’

He lifts a shaking hand to wipe at his face, cringing at hot, damp feeling of his tears. 

He doesn’t hear the reply. 

This isn’t what he wanted he thinks a little later, jeans around his knees, dabbing at the wet spot with a wad of damp paper towel, this isn’t what he wanted at all.


End file.
